


The Dragon's Flame

by Wisteria_Lavender



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, I'm making ulric young, Lots of stuff will happen, Mostly lore firendly, but not entirely, that is if I actually stop being lazy and start writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-14 12:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14136396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wisteria_Lavender/pseuds/Wisteria_Lavender
Summary: As the sun slowly rose, a flash of pale blonde hair could be spotted between the towering pines as the Altmer sprinted through, her forest green gown snagging on branches.  Daggers of ice came appeared in her hands, but quickly left when she discharged them behind her without aim, as she continued to sprint.  The Mer stumbled over a stray root, as a sabre cat leapt from the woods, readying its pounce.  When the cat lunged, the elf was already waiting with sputtering flames emerging from her hands, searing the cat's underside.  The sabre cat jumped to its paws, dashing away into the increasingly lightening forest, as the woman stood up, shaking the dirt off her dress and out of her cascading waves.  After pulling out an ornately decorated map, and surveying her surroundings, she chose a direction and walked on.A wailing cry startled the Altmer, and calling flames to her hands she advanced.  Finding herself near a small settlement, she waited, listening, and followed the distinctive sound of a fight.  Just as she saw a glimpse of two large groups in combat, with the group in red appeared to be winning, the blunt handle of an iron sword thunked her on the, and she collapsed into the darkness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the sun slowly rose, a flash of pale blonde hair could be spotted between the towering pines as the Altmer sprinted through, her forest green gown snagging on branches. Daggers of ice came appeared in her hands, but quickly left when she discharged them behind her without aim, as she continued to sprint. The Mer stumbled over a stray root, as a sabre cat leapt from the woods, readying its pounce. When the cat lunged, the elf was already waiting with sputtering flames emerging from her hands, searing the cat's underside. The sabre cat jumped to its paws, dashing away into the increasingly lightening forest, as the woman stood up, shaking the dirt off her dress and out of her cascading waves. After pulling out an ornately decorated map, and surveying her surroundings, she chose a direction and walked on. 
> 
> A wailing cry startled the Altmer, and calling flames to her hands she advanced. Finding herself near a small settlement, she waited, listening, and followed the distinctive sound of a fight. Just as she saw a glimpse of two large groups in combat, with the group in red appeared to be winning, the blunt handle of an iron sword thunked her on the, and she collapsed into the darkness.

As Traova blinked open her golden-green eyes, she heard a gruff voice say, "Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right?" The speaker was a young man, most likely around the age of 20, she assumed, he had shoulder length wheat-blond hair, which could have done with a washing. Then, with a jolt, she realized that she probably looked about the same, and as she looked down noticed her previously pristine emerald dress was covered dirt and had been torn in many places. The man then stopped staring, and looked to his left before continuing, "Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

The man in question, also young but had shorter brown hair, and a dirt-smudged face, which looked like it had been either hit or kicked by a stead, turned to the blond, with a glint of anger shining in his eyes, "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." The man then turned to Traova, and in a slightly softer voice speculated, "You there... You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." the blond replied before the Imperial driving the cart shouted, "Shut up back there!"

Without notice of the soldier's order, the brunette asked, "And what's wrong with him, huh?" For the first time, Traova took notice of a tall man in his early thirties sitting on the seat beside her. As she looked at him, she had a strange feeling rise in her chest, as if she had seen him in a dream. 

"Watch your tongue." the blonde answered the other, "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." Just as he said this, the gate of a village appeared in the distance.

"No, this can't be happening." Concern traveling to his voice, "This isn't happening."

"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?", the blond asked in an almost comforting way.

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." And maybe an elf's thoughts should be too, as Traova's thoughts went sprawling before her, thinking of how she got here. First, she had left Alinor, the city of glass, in order to teach at the College of Winterhold, but once her carriage had taken her just past a village called Ivarstead, the wagon had broken, and the driver told her the quickest route would be to head to Windhelm where she would find another carriage, which she could take to Winterhold. But no. Here she was. In a cart. On its way to a small village, where divines know what would happen.

"Rorikstead. I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."

The cart passed under the gate, as Traova began to mentally recite Auri-El chief deity Trinimac warrior god, Magnus god of magic and sorcery, Syrabane warlock's god, Y'ffre god of the lush forest, Xarxes our god of secret knowledge and ancestry, Mara Mother-Goddess, Stendarr merciful one, and Phynaster hero-god, please hear my prayer, and let me live.

The mousy-haired Nord's words began to mimic her thoughts as he muttered, "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me."

A moment later, the tall blond sitting across from her snarled, "Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this." When he realized what he had said, he quickly gave her a glance of apology, only slightly softening her scowl, before proceeding, "This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

After a moments silence, Traova heard a small boy talking to his father, who ordered him into their house, evidently knowing the following process. Of course, she did know what was going to happen, and she knew she had to resign to it, after all, it would *hopefully* be the single blow of a sharp ax, that is unless the Imperials resorted to more... painful... ways. Though her efforts would be futile, Traova wished she could turn her bound hands enough to create a flame, but no, even her fingers were tied to one another. It was useless.

She came back tot he depressing reality as the captain shouted, "Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!", and the brown-haired Nord frantically asked, "Why are we stopping?"

"Why do you think? End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us." the blond Nord said, standing up.

The next few moments were a blur as Traova stumbled out of the cart, and looked up only to see the chocolaty-haired Nord, apparently named Lokir, shot down for trying to run. Though her fate may still be death, she presumed having her head chopped off, or so she assumed by the presence of the towering man rendering a sharp-edged ax, would be less excruciating than being shot.

"Wait. You there. Step forward." sounded the voice of a dark-haired Nord donning imperial armor. "Who are you?"

"I am Traovanessa Ayrennarie Loralina," her voice, which had been hoarse with a lack of use, returned to its previous honey-smooth and confident state. "Sauntare Ocariel Aemarine of the Summerset Isles, daughter of Sondaale Aemarine and Caryarel Aemarine of the Third Aldmeri Dominion in Alinor."

"But you're not with the Thalmor Embassy, are you, high elf?" he accused before chuckling, "No, that can't be right..." He returned to his list to see her name, but upon realizing she wasn't there, he turned to the captain, and asked, "Captain. What should we do? She's not on the list."

The captain glowered at him as if he had just told her a chicken had just been arrested for treason, and simply said in a matter of fact voice, "Forget the list. She goes to the block."

"By your orders, Captain. Follow the Captain, prisoner."

Traova stepped away from the cart and over to a small town center where a small group of men and women adorning blue armor stood, surrounded by guards in red. In the middle, the gagged man who had been sitting to her right stood before a silver-haired Imperial, who Traova believed someone had called "General," looked at least a head shorter than the Nord, though she did believe the tall, well-dressed man had a few inches more than most other Nords. The General, who looked as though he would like nothing more than to spit on the man in front of him, growled, "Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak." Oh, now Traova knew who that was, but she thought she had recognized him, though his features may be similar to others. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

In response, the Jarl grunted before the Imperial continued his (most likely already planned) monologue. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

A strange guttural growl sounded in the distance, alarming the villagers and warriors, but the General bellowed out to carry on with the execution. In a stride, the first blue-armored soldier stepped up to the block, where a priestess gave him his last rites before kneeling down. Traova looked away, up the distant mountain, unwanted tears glittering on her eyes. She heard the distinctive schlickt as the ax cut through the man's neck followed by the dull thunk as the blade connected with the stump below.

Another rumble sounded in the Traova heard the Captain cry out, "Next, the Altmer," and felt a hard kick on her back, meant to move her. She stumbled forward, roughly shoved onto the block, her chartreuse eyes staring into the clouded steel ones of the dead man. She couldn't see it, but she Traova could practically feel it as the executioner raised his blade to... the distant rumbling returned, but his time not so distant, not quite a rumble, but a full-on growl. She looked up to see a dark beast with flaming red eyes staring down directly at her. The Captain's foot came off her back, as someone shouted out, "DRAGON." Traova was able to stand, but not for long as the earth quaked around her. The city was in chaos. Fire poured down from the heavens like one would expect of rain. People screamed. Children cried. A heavy cloud of billowing smoke found its way to Traova, sending her into a coughing fit. The hoarse voice of the soldier from the wagon bellowed at her, " Hey, Elf. Get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!" and the man grabbed her hand pulling her away from the city square.

The man led her to a small stone tower, where the Jarl stood, surrounded by his soldiers. The Nord beside her quickly said, "it's Ralof, by the way." Before turning to the Jarl, panting "Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

The Jarl responded, saying "Legends don't burn down villages." His voice was clear and smooth, but also deep and rumbling. He turned to address the living soldiers. "We need to move. Now!"

Ralof, still by her side, looked at her and addressed her like a child, "Up through the tower, let's go!"

How old did he think she was? He was probably a decade younger. Did she look frightened? Sure, she didn't enjoy being put on a cart, sentenced to death, watching a man be decapitated and knowing she was next, but she had seen plenty of death and torture twenty-eight years. After all, she did have a couple of despised scars, though, thankfully, none strayed to her face. 

The soldier started up the stairs, and Traova began to think clearly again, noticing the issue just moments before the soldiers did, as one cried out "We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way!" Almost as if coming to their aid, the dragon burst through the rubble, shouting"Yul...Tor..Shul." One of the Stormcloaks was burnt to a smoldering pile of ash, but due to the clearing of the debris, Ralof noticed a quick exit and shouted to her, "See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going! Go! We'll follow when we can!"

She leaped from one side to the other, stumbling as she landed. She climbed down to the streets where she sprinted past a child crouching beside his father, watching him take his last breaths. Her heart yearned to try to save the man, but she knew he was to close to death to be healed. The Imperial who had previously been holding the list, ran up to the small group, ordering a man to take the child with him before turning to her, telling her to follow him. She didn't really wish to, though she figured he knew the layout of the city better, and she might be able to find Ralof and the other Stormcloaks. 

Her thoughts came true as he led her down a street where Ralof stood, saying "Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!"

To her relief, Ralof quickly responded, "We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time."

"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."

Ralof took a moment to scowl at the Imperial, she now knew was named Hadvar before shouting at her, "You! Come on, into the keep!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is quite welcome and I hope you stay for this... adventure (for both Traova and me).


	2. Chapter 2

As Traova caught up with Ralof, they reached the door, where they entered to find Ulfric Stormcloak, with a sword drawn. His scowl lightened as he saw Ralof, though it hardened again once he saw Traova. She was quick to notice this, and from what she had heard, it quite likely stemmed from the Nord's prejudice against elves. Though she did have to admit she sometimes felt the same, wishing she were a Nord or Imperial, maybe even a Breton. "So, you survived after all? This is it, eh? Nobody else with you?" the Jarl asked a slightly surprised Ralof, who had just noticed a soldier dead by the side of the room.

"Sadly, yes, though some may have found another way out, my lord." At this moment, he seemed to remember Traova who still had her shackles chafing her wrists, he grabbed a small shard of metal from a table and used it to free her before walking over to the dead body, saying, "You can take Gunjar's cuirass, I doubt he'll be needing it."

"Thank you." She said, her voice losing its hoarseness, "I wouldn't be standing here if it weren't for you. Well... or for the dragon for that matter, though I think I enjoy your company more."

"Speaking of the gods-forsaken thing," the Jarl rumbled as the dragon roared outside,"we should move before it knocks the tower over."

As she began to strip, the two men turned their backs, but not quick enough for Traova to miss the heat rising to Ralof's cheecks. They began trying the different doors to the room, before finally giving up and simply standing and waiting as she tore off the gown, grabbing a healing potion from a dresser, and though it wouldn't work as well as if she had made a special one for the use of old wounds, it would still do. She severed off a small section from the destroyed dress, using a small steel dagger she had found on Gunjar, pouring a small bit of the potion onto the cloth, cleaning the oozing scratches. Before she redressed, she healed the scratches, leaving faint scars. Once she had dressed, she was thankful the man, Gunjar, was rather slim, though it still hung limply around her slender frame, though it was certainly warmer than her previous dress. Traova turned back to the group, who were waiting for her.

"None of the doors are unlocked?" She asked, hoping her predictions were wrong, as the dragon yet again roared, and the building shook.

"All are locked, we'll have to try to make it out to the streets," the Jarl gruffly said, but as he finished his sentence, a group of legionnaires stormed in, one shouting, "It's the Stormcloak prisoners!"

Traova's battle instinct kicked in as she called a bluish flame to her hand, dispelling it at an advancing legionnaire, who tried to stab her as she whirled to the left, before lighting him on fire, and sending a dagger of ice through his chest, slowly melting, as warm blood gushed out of his wound. He coughed once before closing his eyes for good. She spun around as an arrow embedded itself in the crumbling stones, and spotted an archer raining down arrows, but she quickly dislodged another flame from her hand, immediately killing the archer. She looked around, The Jarl and Ralof stood over three dead bodies, two at the Jarl's feet, and the third at Ralof's feet.

She stepped away from the corpse at her feet and bent down next to one of the soldiers at the Jarl's feet. Their eyes momentarily met, one eyebrow raised in a silent question of what she was doing. She reached down to the legionnaire who was adorned in a captain's armor, and, as she had suspected, had keys on him which she quickly grabbed.

As the dragon roared, debris falling from the ceiling, they made their way into the next room which, by its looks, was a torture chamber. She and Ralof quickly dispatched the torturer and his assistants, followed by the Jarl who looked slightly disgruntled but momentarily stopped to speak in a hushed voice with a soldier who had barely been saved. He had a deep slash down his side, where an assistant's blade had caught him.

Traova stepped over to the soldier who looked livid before she plainly stated fully aware of the exasperation seeping into her voice, "I want to check your wound, I'm not going to hurt you... quite the opposite in fact. I need you to sit down for a moment." The soldier did so, though he seemed to be reluctant. She crouched beside him and saw the gash was clean but definitely deep, she didn't have any potions, so healing was the best she could do. The slender hands attracted a faint gold glow, and she could feel the warmth draining from the rest of her body, circulating through her hands. The wound closed, leaving a faint pink scar, which would hopefully fade away.

The party of four continued down the path past more skeletons hanging in cages and into a tunnel, but not before Ralof spotted supplies in a cell which they were able to work their way into. Though she knew it had been less than half an hour since she had been kneeling next to the blood-stained block, it felt like hours had passed. The dark tunnel lightened only by a torch the soldier had grabbed, and the eerie blue orb, circulating her head, widened out into a natural cavern, where even more Imperials waited, speaking about a General Talius. Then it all clicked, the man confronting the Jarl had been the General Talius, positioned in Skyrim to end the civil war. The legionnaires quickly realized their presence and attacked. As she ended an archer's sad life, the floor broke into flames, killing the second.

The exhausted group found a small hallway leading away from the damp cavern. As Ralof headed ahead, lowering a bridge, Traova realized just how drenched she was. Sweat poured down her back, and her legs had water dripping off the hem of her pants, and her warm boots were now soggy. As she crossed the bridge, the dragon roared yet again, and behind her, the entire room shook, causing rubble to fall blocking the Jarl and the Stormcloak soldier. She heard the Jarl call out, "Ralof, go now! For your own sake, get going!"

"Well, there's no use going that way now. We should keep on going. The others will have to find a different route out." Ralof told her.

"I agree, let's go"

Yet again they found themselves in a tunnel, yet this time, the only light came from her orb, and webs decorated the walls. No, no, no, this couldn't mean what she was thinking. But soon enough the tunnel opened into another cavern, with, to her disappointment, more webs in it. As she began to trail behind him, Ralof glanced at her and with a sly grin asked, "Not afraid of a few spiders, are you?"

"Oh, uh, no, of course not, they are a bit... unpleasant though." she responded knowing her high-pitched voice and shy smile would probably give it away. They entered the cavern, Ralof chopping off legs and heads, while anything around her was burnt to ashes. To Traova's liking, they quickly headed into a third cavern, wear a bear slept, snorting in its sleep. "You want to fight it or sneak past it?" Ralof whispered.

"Sneak past. It looks peaceful like that," a smile lighting her face.

Ralof advised her, a shadow of amusement on his face, "Maybe now, but never mess with a bear, sleeping or not."

"Oh well, let's just continue."

They came to the edge of the cave and exited into the blinding sun. A biting wind whipped across her face, sending shivers down her spine. The ground had a dusting of snow, even though it was already well into Last Seed, and towering pines formed a dense forest. A distant horizon boasted snowy mountains, but she was unable to appreciate the landscape due to Ralof yelling, "Wait!" as the terrifying dragon flew over their heads. "There he goes. Looks like he's gone for good this time."

"Finally... I hope we aren't the only ones who made it out," She stated. "We should probably leave in case the Empire comes to find out what happened, but I have no idea of where we are— I just came to Skyrim, you see."

"Not the best welcoming day, eh? Don't worry, my sister Gerdur runs the mill in Riverwood, just up the road. I'm sure she'd help you out."

"Oh, well thank you."

The couple walked in silence down a winding path with crags on either side, until Ralof declared, "You know, you should go to Windhelm and join the fight to free Skyrim. You've seen the true face of the Empire here today. If anyone will know what the coming of the dragon means, it's Ulfric."

"I don't really think my help would be appreciated." She answered giving Ralof a soft smile, but when he looked at her with a blank expression, she divulged, "The Stormcloaks aren't exactly known for being elf-lovers. I've heard even the Aragonians aren't allowed inside Windhelm, and the Dunmer are confined to a neglected portion of the city. I do agree with your beliefs, as after all, Tiber Septim was transformed into a divine, though I don't think only allowing Nords to join the cause will win you any help... So do you really think I should join up with the Stormcloaks?"

"Damn right. You don't have to be a Nord to fight for Skyrim's freedom. You should come to Windhelm with me and join the fight to free Skyrim."

"I'll think about it, she said as a magnificent lake came into view, with cold, clear, still rippling water flowing into a river. Nearby, three pillars stood, vines growing over them, shadowed by tall trees. "Wow, it-it's beautiful." "Lake Ilinalta, and three standing stones," he said before answering her unspoken question, "they give magical power to whoever touches them. That," he pointed to each stone in turn," is the Thief Stone, the Mage Stone, and the Warrior Stone."

She stepped up to the one Ralof had called the Mage Stone, a carving of a wizened wizard bearing a staff decorated the base while the middle formed a circular hole, held together by two ornate strips of iron. Gingerly, she took a stride and placed an open hand into the opening. A tingling sensation traveled up her arm, into the pit of her stomach, before spreading throughout her entire body. She turned to Ralof, and asked, "Have you ever touched one?"

"Once— with me da"

Their exhausting journey continued for another fifteen minutes, before coming to an arch, overgrown in moss. "Is that your town?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes! Gerdur!" he shouted as a robust smiling woman barreled into him.

"Mara's Mercy, its good to see you!" The woman, she assumed was Gerdur had a breathy voice, covered in a strong accent, who then asked, "But is it safe for you to be here?"

"Gerdur..." Ralof began to protest.

Gerdur interjected, placing her hands on her hips, "We had heard that Ulfric had been captured..."

"Gerdur... I'm fine. At least now I am."

"Are you hurt? What's happened?" The Nord finally took notice of Traova, standing a distance apart, "And who's this? One of your comrades?"

"Not a comrade— yet," he said turning to her, "...but a friend. I owe Traova her my life, in fact. Is there somewhere we can talk? There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials..."

Helgen? Has something happened...? You're right. Follow me. Hod! Come here a minute. I need your help with something."

As they passed a sawmill, for the first time, she noticed a sturdily built blond Nord who cried out, "What is it, woman? Sven drunk on the job again?"

"Hod. Just come here." the exasperated woman advised. She continued to walk, and Traova noticed her gate was heavy, with long quick strides compared to her own, where the placed her feet lightly, one in front of the other with short steps.

"Ralof! What are you doing here?" the man said, throwing a log onto a plank, "Ah...I'll be right down!"

Just then, a young boy with dark hair and a spray of freckles appeared around the lumber mill, and he shrieked with laughter before calling, "Uncle Ralof! Can I see your ax? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?" all in one breath.

Gerdur, who she now assumed was the mother of the child scolded, "Hush, Frodnar. This is no time for your games. Go and watch the south road. Find us if you see any Imperial soldiers coming."

"Aw, mama, I want to stay and talk with uncle Ralof!" the boy, Frodnar pouted.

"Look at you, almost a grown man!" Ralof began, evidently trying to persuade Frodnar to happily leave without an argument, "Won't be long before you'll be joining the fight yourself!"

"That's right! Don't worry uncle Ralof, I won't let those soldiers sneak up on you!" with that, the boy stepped away, a smirk on his face, and a dog running trotting along behind him.

The man strode over as Gerdur peered into Ralof's eyes and said, "I think it's time for you to tell your story."

And so Traova's Adventure began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... I didn't realize how long it can take to write a chapter. Hopefully, the next will be a bit easier to write as I won't have to many in-game dialogues to cover (note the word hopefully). Thank you for reading, and all constructive criticism is welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> The way her name is pronounced is Tray-oh-vu-wen-ess-uh A-ren-air-ee Lore-uh-line-uh Saun-tair-ee Ock-are-ee-el A-mare-en... That is a loooooong name, but don't worry, we just know her as Traova Aemarine.  
> 


End file.
